Mesh
by MYZ-chan
Summary: Life is not a kind thing, but he keeps moving anyways. Gazille, and the life that was bestowed unto him.


So.

Remember a while back, when I had put on my profile that I would be writing a back story for Gazille? And that I took down the option because I was too busy?

Well. Here it is.

This was inspired by snappleducated's Combustion Countdown, a truly awesome story. Go read it, go, go, go!

THIS IS NOT GAZILLE'S ACTUAL PAST! I HAVE NO IDEA ABOUT IT, BUT I WROTE THIS STORY ANYWAYS, SO DON'T FLAME ME, ALL RIGHT? GOOD.

So enjoy, critique nicely and dignifiedly, and remember--always eat your metals.

Kidding! That would kill you.

But enjoy! And all hail summer!

* * *

_one_

His father doesn't want him. He looks too much like his mother, he says to anyone who asks (the mother died in childbirth for this baby, and Father doesn't want him because he's far too consumed with grief to even be reminded of his dead wife). He doesn't even give him a name in fear of becoming too attached to his wife's killer.

A year after the child's birth (late in the year, with snow and blue-gray skies), the father wraps him up in a blanket and leaves him on the forest floor, far away from the village that he was born in.

The father doesn't really know if he wants the child to die there or if he wants him to be found. Either one is fine, he compromises for himself, and keeps walking away even as his child screams into the dark.

He still doesn't turn back when the sound of heavy shuffling comes from behind his retreating figure, and an enormous dragon eye gleams in the dark.

* * *

_two_

He's crawling across the floor of the cave in which they live. His tiny, grubby little fists reach up and attempt to swipe at the sleeping dragon's form (silver-gray, with scales sharper and smoother than the sharpest of knives) and he garbles a nonsense word out.

The dragon shifts. "What now, child?" He turns golden-crimson eyes towards him and stares.

The child only smiles (with gums and tiny, growing teeth) and garbles until the dragon picks him up and lets him sleep with him.

* * *

_three_

He's learning how to turn his skin into armor. The dragon watches him every time he tries, nodding with approval every time he succeeds.

(He's a rather odd child—he's already three years old and he still doesn't have a name, nor has he said anything really comprehendible to count as a first word)

On the night after his third attempt at fully covering his body with the metal exterior, he looks up at the dragon (it's funny how he hasn't learned his name either) and says, somewhat comprehendible, "Gazille."

(Later, Metalicana figures that it's because some creatures were born with their names on their tongues. His just came a little late)

* * *

_four_

He wonders when Metalicana's coming home.

Sitting on the ground (covered in dirt because he really didn't like taking baths and Metalicana didn't like pushing him to take them because he also didn't find them necessary), he gropes for a stick and closes his fingers around something else instead. It's sharp enough to almost slice apart his soft skin, but he's used to sharp objects, so he holds it carefully and holds it up into the light.

It's a shard of Metalicana's old scales, and it's almost transparent now from age. Dimly, it reflected the image of a young boy, with messy black hair and dark eyes and pale, pale skin.

"Are you a ghost?" he whispers, the words clumsy and fumbling (because he still doesn't talk as much as he should).

Then he realizes he's looking at himself and he drops it, letting it clatter it to the floor as he huddles in a far corner and wishes for Metalicana to come home already.

* * *

_five_

He ventures back into the village he was born in for the first time. Metalicana is not with him and it makes him feel nervous, even though he knows that the dragon has good intentions_. He has to learn to be independent_, the dragon says, and Gazille (his own name feels awkward to him, and he doesn't like to use it much) knows it's true.

He's just turned the corner into a bakery when a strong hand grabs his shoulder. He looks up.

It's like looking into one of the carnival mirrors Gazille saw when passing by. The man has the exact same messy black hair, the exact same pale, pale skin that was luminescent in the dark. But he's taller, broader, stronger, and he's absolutely frightening.

"You are him," the man rasps out from his throat, "You are my son. I thought…" He trails off. "I thought…" His voice breaks. "Melinda…"

But Gazille is too frightened, too paranoid to deal with this man (his father, he tells himself later, his father), and he wrenches away from the hand and runs back into the forest, vowing never to go back in that village for a long, long time.

* * *

_six_

This is when Metalicana disappears.

He stands in the cave alone, staring at the spot where Metalicana would normally rest. It was now empty, bare and exposed.

He sits down, exhausted. He has already searched everywhere else that Metalicana would be.

But the dragon is not anywhere to be found.

Gazille feels betrayed. He thought that Metalicana would never leave him alone, but now here he is. Sitting in the middle of bare ground, with a dead rabbit in his hands, he realizes that he has never felt so alone as this.

He may have mastered the abilities of the dragon that he has lived with, but that does not mean he can replace him.

He fingers the lone, shed scale lying on the ground.

The metal is cold. Unforgiving.

Just like him.

* * *

_seven_

He's been walking along this path for about two months. The heat is sweltering and beats down on his neck (but somehow, he's not getting any darker, just more and more muddled in the head).

He's taken enough metal with him to last him a few months or so, maybe even half a year if he's careful enough. Gazille is, at times.

The burning on his body is harsh. It won't go away.

(he's left the only home he had and set out for the future)

* * *

_eight_

It's winter. The snow is thick. It covers everything.

The metal is almost gone. It lasted longer than he thought it would.

He hasn't stopped burning.

* * *

_nine_

He doesn't know what happened. Things got a little bit fuzzy after he fell down in the street.

He remembers that there was a girl there.

Yes. A girl. A girl with a black umbrella was there in the alleyway. She was staring at him.

But why was it raining?

(it didn't stop the burning)

* * *

_ten_

He's been at the guild for about six months.

He's learned that the girl's name is Jubia. She's a rain girl—a girl that brings rain with her wherever she goes, whether she wants to or not.

It's tragic, in a stupid sense.

He doesn't talk to her. It's not like if he did it would help anything.

(the burning refuses to go away anytime soon)

* * *

_eleven_

He's still there, the boy from before. He's still there. Still frightened.

Still waiting.

The Gazille of now tells him to shut his goddamned trap and quit whining. This is their life now, and he better get damned used to it. Metalicana was never going to come back. Ever.

Then the boy asks him about the burning and why it wouldn't go away, and Gazille threatens to get rid of him for good.

* * *

_twelve_

He eats with vigor these days. Anything metal he can get his hands on, he eats it like it's his last meal.

(he killed his first man yesterday. He screamed and screamed when Gazille impaled him with his metal hand and there was blood all over Gazille's arm and he looked so much like his father that it wasn't even funny and it was bloody and nasty and it felt so frightening—)

He tears into the piece of metal from the train and listens to the sound of the rain around him.

* * *

_thirteen_

It's fall and he's on the floor and watching the sky through the patchy ceiling. Some idiot crashed through it through the night. The master had nearly killed him for it, too.

Jubia's trying not to let her magic run loose and rain on everyone. Gazille appreciates that somewhat.

The boy from long ago is almost gone.

The burning is still there.

* * *

_fourteen_

He ravages Fairy Tail for the first time on the month of his fourteenth birthday.

It certainly is something to be remembered. They broke the ceiling and broke numerous bottles, beer or not. Liquid spills all over the floor and everyone laughs because it is Fairy Tail's things they're breaking. They hate Fairy Tail.

So they break chairs and tables and take some of the food before leaving in a fine mood.

Jubia comes along. She floods the place and everyone roars with laughter.

She's the only one who was nice enough to give him a metal box to eat. She doesn't know that it's a special time for him though—it's just the way that she is.

Gazille ate it that night while he looked out towards the stars.

* * *

_fifteen_

The burning is getting worse. He can't feel someone touching him sometimes because of the overwhelming sensation that he's frying in an oven.

He wonders why it's like this sometimes. Other times, he just doesn't question it.

(_it will end soon_, he thinks, and goes back to sleep)

* * *

_sixteen_

He's joined Fairy Tail.

It's a strange guild. It's not as quiet as Phantom, but he knows that it's probably better because the burning is getting less.

Most of the time, he watches everyone else doing what they wanted and needed to do. He can't get used to the fact that it's so family like in this guild—that is why he watches for the slightest hint of animosity or anger or sign that they weren't as happy as they all seemed.

He can never find anything.

* * *

_seventeen_

Luxus says that he's grateful for Gazille saving his ass from his father. He smiles often when he says this, like he's genuinely happy that a kid just saved his ass from becoming toast.

Gazille remains silent from this. He doesn't want Luxus' thanks.

He's not really sure what he wants, actually. Not anymore.

* * *

_eighteen_

It's a hard step to take.

He stands outside of the house with his pack on his shoulder. He looks at it, fidgeting.

Should he go in? Should he walk away?

He can hear Gray and Natsu fighting in the background over something stupid—Gray's stripping habit, probably. Erza is over in one of the shops looking at the vintage armor they had. He isn't sure where Lucy is—probably in a clothing store or something.

He turns to walk away from the house when there's a thump from behind him. He twists his head around.

"Ow!" Lucy says, stretching slightly. "Carrying so much stuff hurts! I don't think my back's going to get better."

Gazille snorts. "I bet. You're too soft, Bunny Girl."

She looks at him angrily. "As if!" She takes the bags and lifts them back up. "See? I am so not delicate—ah!" She falls forward, bags acting as cushions.

He rolls his eyes, but grins all the same.

The burning is almost gone. Almost.

"Told you."

"Shut up," she says, voice muffled from the depths of her shopping bags.

He looks down at her and rolls his eyes again before turning back and walking up to the house. He knocks on the door.

It opens.

The man standing before him is not as frightening as he was before. He is smaller, balding and wrinkled, with hands resting on a cane for support.

He looks up at Gazille through heavily lidded eyes and blinks slowly.

"Are you who I think you are?" the man asks in a deep, aching voice.

Gazille looks at the man. He can feel his guild members staring, no longer absorbed in their own doings.

"Who do you think I am?" he asks back. The sound of his heartbeat is deafening.

The man tilts his head slightly. He smiles.

He knows.

"You're my boy," he says softly. "My boy."

Gazille bites his lip to refrain himself from yelling at him, _but you still abandoned me, didn't you? I know you did. That's how I ended up with Metalicana. And I never found _him.

"Why?" he asks. He knows that his father will understand the question. "Why did you do it?"

His father is still smiling, but it's a sad smile now. "You look so much like your mother," he whispers. "So much."

"Is that why?" Gazille asks. "Because I looked like her?" His voice is rising. "Because I looked like my goddamned mother?"

He needs answers. He needs them now.

The man is still smiling, even as tears begin to leak out of the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice trembling, "But I don't even know your name."

Gazille is numb. The man looks at him expectantly. So do his teammates, their eyes boring into him from behind. They are silent.

So is he.

There is nothing left to be said.

He turns around and walks away, pushing through the small crowd that his teammates have formed, ignoring Natsu's shouts, Lucy's cries, Gray's calls for him to come back, to stop.

He won't stop. He's done with it. He fulfilled what he wanted to do for a long time. He has to keep moving.

But he stops and lets them catch up anyways.

_(because they are worth stopping for)_


End file.
